


A Case of You

by andaugustslippedaway



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Because that's all I know how to write, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reader-Insert, Season Seven-ish, Slow Burn, Yearning, but i will be making up cases, canon is a suggestion not a rule, like super slow, so sorry to anyone who knows anything real about criminal psychology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andaugustslippedaway/pseuds/andaugustslippedaway
Summary: As the BAU's newest recruit, you know that you have a lot to prove - and that it'll be an uphill battle to do so to your boss, Agent Aaron Hotchner, who has seemed determined to dislike you from the moment that you stepped foot in his office. But as you slowly begin to grow closer, your own troubled past threatens to resurface, and one thing becomes irrevocably clear: that the only thing worse than falling for a profiler, is trying to lie to one ...
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Reader, Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	A Case of You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, anyone who might be reading this! This is my first ever work of fan-fiction (!!!) and I just wanted to share some notes before letting you dive on in to the story ...
> 
> \- First of all, i'm a firm subscriber to the slow-burn school of romance (this is what happens when your parents let you watch pride and prejudice (2005) too many times as a child!) and so this story will be fairly slow to start. Rest assured, smut is on the horizon, and the gratification will be all the better for being delayed!  
> \- This isn't set in any specific season, but we're definitely post-foyet and the events of 100. There will be canon-typical violence, so be aware of that!  
> \- Finally, this is my first ever post on AO3, and, after not writing for a few years (and having no beta reader!) it is certainly going to be pretty rusty. I apologise in advance for any mistakes!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy :)

It was 9.17. Meaning, you were officially running late.

“Shit!” You muttered under your breath as you swept through the glass doors into the bullpen, noting the deserted desks of your co-workers. “ _Shit!_ ”

Taking the steps to the brief-room two at a time, you burst through the doors, halting whatever discussion had been taking place in your absence. Sliding into the closest nearby seat, you hurriedly slid your bag off of your shoulder, an apology already on your lips.

In the four weeks that you had been working for the BAU, you’d just about been keeping your head above water. As the newest recruit you knew that you had a lot to learn, and so your days had become something of a blur, made up of early mornings in the office and late nights laid awake at home, poring over old case files in an attempt to catch up to the expertise of your co-workers. With a background in literature and linguistics, you knew that you weren’t the traditional choice of candidates for the role, and, as such, had felt the pressure to prove yourself capable. Sometimes, you wondered exactly what SSA Aaron Hotchner had been thinking when he had leaned across his desk and shook your hand, offering you the job.

You could only hope that, this whole time, he hadn’t been wondering the exact same thing.

Even though your apology was addressed to the group at large, you couldn’t help but feel like it was aimed at Hotch, sat opposite and observing you with his ever-present intense gaze. As always, under his scrutiny you felt your spine straighten, your cheeks flush. In the coffee-less haze of your hurried morning you had run out of your apartment without a second thought to how you had looked, but now, with your boss’s eyes fixed firmly upon you, you began to regret that decision. It wasn’t exactly that you cared what Agent Hotchner thought of your appearance, beyond that of it being professionally attired – which, in your white button down blouse and black dress trousers, you were. It was more that there was something about this man that filled you with a deep-seated need to impress him, in all aspects of your performance. You knew that you weren’t alone in the feeling. Even the most seasoned agents on your team looked to Hotchner for validation.

The same team that now sat silent, waiting for Hotch’s response to your – frankly, rather pathetic – apology.

Whilst the rest of the team looked to him, Hotch himself had remained focused on you, and you finally allowed yourself to meet his gaze. As he scanned your face, you knew what you were hoping he would find: a young woman, wound tight, worried about her new job and overworking herself as a result. You hoped that he would chalk your bruised eyes up to a long night studying, your pale face to the pressures of a new role. You hoped that would be all that he would see.

After all, you couldn’t afford for it not to be.

For a long second, he looks at you, his expression unreadable. And then he nods, once, the conversation clearly dismissed.

“JJ?”

“Right.” The petite blonde woman stands, shooting you a soft smile that you know is intended to make you feel better. And it does – ever since you had started at the BAU, JJ has been endlessly patient with you. Sure, you might have had to look at a thousand baby pictures of her young son in return, but who could blame her? Henry was adorable. You return her smile, but know that the expression will be short-lived. The seven of you are in the briefing room. There’s only one thing that this could mean.

“Last night, a little after nine, the bodies of three women were discovered off of the CA-190, just over the state line of Nevada.” JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and even though you know what’s coming, you can’t help but flinch when the images flick up onscreen. “Two of the women have been identified, Garcia’s working on the third. The two we do know – Rebecca Hall and Maria Clark, 21 and 23 – were both reported missing from the same town in Southern California, where they attended the local community college.” As JJ speaks, two more images appear onscreen: Rebecca and Maria, young, pretty, and blonde, smiling widely for their college ID photos.

JJ begins to run through the basics of the case, explaining how all three women were found with their throats slit, their bodies baring the signs of sexual assault. You’ve sat in this room before, seen cases come through, but you still can’t shake the discomfort that comes with it. As JJ continues, you take a second to glance around the table at your co-workers, wondering if, after all these years on the job, they feel the same way that you do. You don’t have to remind yourself that you’re amongst some of the best in the Bureau, but you can’t help yourself from running through their achievements nonetheless.

David Rossi, BAU founder and bestselling author; Emily Prentiss, ex-Interpol agent out from undercover; Derek Morgan, the Bureau’s expert on obsessional-crimes; Jennifer ‘JJ’ Jareau, media liaison turned profiler; and Dr. Spencer Reid, certified genius, the youngest FBI recruit, _ever_. Completing the team was technical analyst Penelope Garcia, hacker extraordinaire, and the only person you’d ever seen attending an active crime scene in an all-pink ensemble. And, in charge of it all, Agent Aaron Hotchner.

With his focus on the files in front of him, you took the opportunity to study your Unit Chief as he had earlier studied you, taking in his hard, dark eyes, his high cheekbones, the angular cut of his jaw. Despite working closely under him in your time at the Bureau, the man was still difficult for you to define. You wondered if this was a by-product of his behaviour towards you, which at times felt... _off._ There had never been anything untoward in his conduct, and he was always a courteous professional: patient, purposeful, polite. Nevertheless, you couldn’t quite shake the deep, gut feeling you had that Aaron Hotchner didn’t particularly like you.

As if sensing your eyes on him, he glanced up, and you froze, caught in the act. Locked into place by his piercing gaze, you suddenly realised the severity of your situation.

You were in a room full of profilers. A group of people who had dedicated their lives to understanding the criminal mind; who had made their living off of sensing the secrets in another human being.

 _You were in a room full of profilers,_ you thought to yourself, feeling the cold chill of the realisation dawning. _And you were lying to them all._

*

“A word, Agent?”

At the sound of his low voice, you look up, a little startled. The group had just been dismissed with the customary ‘wheels up in thirty’, and your co-workers had made short work of exiting the brief-room, no doubt leaving to cram in one last cup of coffee before heading to the jet. You’d taken your time in clearing up your things and, as such, were the only person still left in the room when Hotch had spoken.

“Of course, Sir.” You acquiesced. To your surprise, instead of requesting that you both head back to his office, he pulled out the chair right beside you, turning it to face you as he sat down.

You couldn’t help but notice, as his knees brushed your own, that it was the closest you two had ever been.

“So,” He says, and his voice is brisk, business-like. He shifts, so that his legs are no longer in contact with your own. “I have to ask about this morning.”

 _This morning._ When you had jerked awake, pulse pounding, feeling sick to your stomach with fear. When you’d woken up with the ghost of a name on your lips, a name you hadn’t spoken in years.

“I’m sorry.” Is all that you can say in response, all that you trust yourself to. “It won’t happen again.”

“It’s already happened twice this week.” Hotch watches you, eyes appraising, and you have to fight to keep your features under control. To your surprise, his eyes soften slightly as he says his next words. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You know that you’re being short, but you can’t help it; one more second of his scrutiny and you think that you might crack. Based off of how you thought he felt about you, you’d expected anger, annoyance. His kindness was too much to deal with. Frustrated, you let your gaze drop down to your hands.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” He says, finally. “But I have to know that whatever’s going on isn’t going to affect your ability to focus out in the field.”

At this, your eyes dart back up.

“You think I’m ready for the field?” Since starting, you’ve been largely confined to desk duty, holed up in Garcia’s office and assisting in any way that you can from Quantico as you waited for the litany of tests and checks – mental, physical, and psychological – you had completed to be signed off on.

“Your final psych evaluation came through. You’ve been cleared.”

It’s not exactly an answer to your question, and you know that he has spent too many years as a lawyer to not be aware of his own loophole.

“But do _you_ think I’m ready?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, and Hotch pauses, his eyebrows slightly raised.

In the sudden quiet, you wonder if you’ve gone a step too far, revealed a bit too much of yourself. If you’re right – right about this gut feeling, right in thinking that Hotch doesn’t like you – then your words have certainly betrayed that you know how he feels. And you know that you _are_ right: its obvious in his scepticism, in his scrutiny. Its obvious in the way that you catch him looking at you sometimes, when he thinks you’re not looking back, his eyes searching you for something he can’t seem to find.

He’s obvious, and you can hardly blame him.

_After all, he’s right not to trust you._

You wait for him to speak, wondering if, when he does, he’ll say something to confirm your instincts. But, when he finally responds, what he says is far more alarming.

“You know, I read your Zodiac paper.”

At his words, you feel yourself stiffen.

“You did?” Your voice sounds unnatural to your own ears, but if Hotch notices anything off in your tone, his face betrays nothing.

“I did. It was peer-assessed by an old friend in forensic linguistics at Georgetown. She’d actually wanted me to forward it on to Dave, but...” He trails off, glances over. “I was intrigued.”

Your heartbeat quickens in your chest.

“When your résumé crossed my desk, I knew that I recognised your name from somewhere. When I realised where from, it was enough to convince me to invite you in for an interview, despite your lack of experience.” He pauses, seeming to choose his next words carefully. “It was an excellent paper.”

Your cheeks flush. Despite your reservations, for any other accomplishment Hotch’s praise would have been enough to make you glow for the rest of the day; hell, for the rest of the _week_. But you didn’t view that paper, or that time of your life, as anything close to an accomplishment. And so, the “thank you, Sir” that falls from your lips doesn’t hold any of the warmth his words should warrant.

He sits for a second, unapologetically open in his observation of you. You try to fight the uncomfortable sensation that comes with being truly _seen_.

“When I remembered the paper, I assumed that there must have been some sort of admin mistake, to explain why you weren’t going by Dr. I was surprised to learn that you never completed your PhD.”

At the mention of your PhD, your blood runs cold. _He knows, then,_ you think, panic beginning to blur your vision. _He’s known this whole goddamn time._

Thinking of that failed, final year of your doctorate, your fingers fly to your throat. The space there has been empty for quite some time, but sometimes you can still feel the weight of the necklace that used to hang there; feel the phantom metal cool against your skin. One thought rings through your head, clear as a bell. _If he asks, it’s all over._

But, he doesn’t ask.

“I guess, what I’m saying is ...” He trails off, his eyes finding yours. “I haven’t been able to figure out why someone so gifted would decide to give up on their chosen career path.”

It’s an opportunity for an out, one you know he hopes you won’t take. He wants you to tell him what happened, you realise. But he won’t force it out of you.

So, you take a deep breath. And then you open your mouth, knowing that your next words will disappoint him.

“You had an interesting career change yourself.”

You know it isn’t how you should be speaking to your superior, and when you look up you expect to see cool indifference in his eyes, a reflection of your own cold tone.

You’re not disappointed. His expression isn’t half as warm as it was a moment before, when he was giving you the opportunity to open up to him. Whatever Hotch had felt for you before – distrust, dislike – is no longer of importance, and you know that what you have just done has drawn an irrevocable line in the sand. Your boss might not trust you yet... but you’ve just shown that you clearly don’t trust him either.

“I suppose I did.” Is all he says, and the conversation is undoubtedly over. “Grab your go-bag. I want you in California on this case.” He stands, and you move to follow, until his eyes fall on you and the force of his gaze stops you where you sit.

For a brief second, you hope that his next words will be ones of encouragement. You weren’t quite as unaffected by his earlier words of praise as you had pretended to be, and, despite how you’ve pissed him off, part of you still pines for his approval.

What he gives you is anything but.

“I’m giving you an opportunity to prove yourself to me, Agent.” His eyes are level on yours, his voice hard. He sounds as if you’ve disappointed him already.

Anger flashes through you, and, again, your words are out of your mouth before you can think them through.

“And I’m not taking that opportunity for granted, _Sir_.” Your lip curls slightly on this last word, twisting it out of its deferential context, and his eyes darken at the sound.

“The plane’s leaving in fifteen.” Is all he says, and then he walks right out of the room. For a few seconds, you fight to slow the rapid rise and fall of your chest, fight to give your shallow breathing some stability.

Any doubts that you had before, that he didn’t like you, are gone now.

It’s all too clear that Aaron Hotchner _despises_ you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so, so much for reading!
> 
> I know that this is a slow start to a slow-burn, but I hope that it has you all intrigued! After all, there's a thin line between love and hate ...
> 
> Let me know your thoughts, and I will try to update soon x


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